Spark
by Laerkstrein
Summary: Even in the midst of hell, there's always a beacon of light.


****Disclaimer:**** I don't own _Bleach, _or any of the _Bleach_ characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo: the genius behind the captivating manga that started it all. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Spark  
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**Prompt: **Fearless...**  
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**A/N: **Written for LJ. Lemon warning.

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><p>Dark curses slipped between his teeth as the pain began to sink in, almost enough to turn him back into a puddle. A useful tactic to be used as a last resort, but the suffering endured in the aftermath was, at the very least, a living hell. It was aggravating to know that he'd been forced to retreat by any adversary, let alone a scrawny Quincy boy with a massive chip on his shoulder. If anything, his bruised ego was the worst to come of this, as the rest of the misery was old news to him by now. Mayuri grimaced as the water rained down upon him, offering a somewhat soothing presence as it pounded rhythmically against his skin.<p>

The sound of his lieutenant's voice was almost enough to drive him mad at the moment. Her drive to learn was certainly useful, but, in this case, it was simply grating upon his last nerve. Something had driven her to bring the situation to his attention, and it had only served to irritate him further. He'd heard every last detail of Lieutenant Kotetsu's report, and he didn't really give a damn. Aizen was the least of his worries, let alone his inconsequential betrayal. If, however, the man's actions ever posed any threat to Mayuri's own interests, only then would he be bothered by such a thing. The Fourth Division, what with their propriety and constant talk of ethics, didn't matter much, either.

They were bothersome, the lot of them. From their challenging captain downward, they were spineless. As such, their specialty in medical care was perfect, as not one of Unohana's men would last a day under his supervision, let alone that of the barbarian, Zaraki. The Fourth was filled with bleeding hearts, and the captain's was by far the worst of them all. Mildly intriguing as she was, the woman only served to challenge Mayuri, driving him to outmatch her knowledge in the field of deadly toxins. He hated how their divisions were forced to coincide, but he supposed it was better than working with the fools of the Eleventh, as their captain was far more irritating.

Through the hissing of the shower, it was a miracle that he heard the door close. He rolled his eyes, wondering what the hell Nemu was wandering off for. But as voices began to echo off the walls, Mayuri immediately knew that the Fourth Division's captain was present, and it was pissing him off. What could be so damned important that she'd show up now, of all times? He ground his teeth, peering around the wall to glower at her, to which she responded with a gentle smile. Movement caught his eye, and he waved Nemu away, intent on dealing with Unohana on his own.

As she departed, Mayuri returned his attention to the unwelcome visitor who had dared to intrude. Aside from foolish, she was certainly bold, having the nerve to bother him when he was in such a miserable state. Her smile widened, and he made a face, sickened by the fact that she could behave so pleasantly. He flinched, the damned reconstruction process taking its toll. He'd have to come up with some way to make it less agonizing.

"Your wounds," Unohana began, her smile having faded, "have they healed?"

Mayuri scoffed, unsure of how to answer. Why the hell she cared was beyond him. Then again, it was in her nature to probe patients about comfort and the like, but he sure as hell didn't qualify as a "patient." The way she watched him set of a light at the back of his mind. There was something that didn't quite fit; some motive hidden beneath that cool facade. Not knowing what was maddening. Lost in a wave of thought, he failed to notice her position until her face appeared before his, smile in place once again.

For some reason, it didn't bother him in the slightest that she was seeing him the way he truly was. To say that the gleam in her eye wasn't alluring would be a blatant lie. He wouldn't deny that there was a mild interest, as she was one of the few who had dared oppose his ethics. A part of him had always had the desire to figure out how her mind worked, how she could remain so calm in the worst of situations. His eyes visibly widened as she slipped around the wall, catching him by the shoulders, fingers dancing across bone. To say the least, it was enthralling, the electricity that flowed through her, teeth nipping at his jaw. He growled as she pressed her body against his, pinning him against the wall.

Clearly, the interest wasn't quite as one-sided as he'd believed.

All sense was suddenly lost, hands scraping against skin, mouths fighting for dominance as both bodies were tangled upon the wet floor. Her hands fell away, back arching as his hands tore through her uniform, casting it aside to gain access to her body. The look in her eye was pleading, thrilling and mind-numbing all at once. If anything, he preferred power and control, having hated every second he had been forced to serve under that bastard Urahara. But this was ideal. She was submitting, throwing herself before him like another subject to be pulled apart. Even doused in freezing waters, all that could be felt was the fire, the urge, to control every emotion swimming in her head. When he was through, there would only be one.

The way she stared up at him, begging for contact, was everything he'd imagined. Her hands shot to his throat, twisting until he was trapped beneath her, trembling as she forced her mouth over his, the sweet taste of honey pervading his senses. The world had grown dark, heated only by the flames of lust that burned between them. His hands tangled in her hair, scraping along her back as she teased him, reversing their roles. He hissed, blood spiraling down the drain as her teeth pierced his shoulder, bringing back the forgotten pain that had haunted him. But with her here, distracting him from the hell of it all, the pain didn't mean nearly as much.

Now it was clear. She didn't give a damn about the pain he was in, the scars and wounds he'd sustained in battle. Her motive had been self-serving, a way to drown out all the pressures that weighed heavily upon her shoulders. If that had been her purpose, and there was no doubt, then he was far worse for having taken full advantage of her moment of weakness. Even with blood tainting his mouth, this was all there was.

Decency and propriety were gone, having fled the scene the instant they came into contact. Even with this agony, the tearing of flesh as wounds opened, and the grating of her hips against him, it was all unlike anything before, and he didn't want it to stop. Her hands wove through his hair, lips making contact with his throat, eliciting a pained growl as she pressed herself against him. He could almost see it, that damned smile of hers. She was torturing him, and she didn't give a damn. All the while he'd thought himself to be the heartless bastard, so willing to take advantage of the moment, and yet _she_ wanted _him_ to beg.

It was just a game to her. A way to gauge just how far she could push until he broke. But he wouldn't be outdone. Torture it may have been, but it was still a challenge, a test of will. Her eyes widened, his hand slipping across her leg, causing her to collapse, hands digging into his sides to draw blood. She gasped, his hand moving slightly as she slipped down, teeth gnawing lightly at her lips. After this, there was no doubt she'd be back for more. And to think he'd dared to comply. Her eyes lidded with lust, she smiled, slipping her tongue between his teeth, moaning words of pleasure into his mouth.

There was now a flame lit between them, and it would take far more than freezing water to douse it.


End file.
